


Masquerade

by dreamlittleyo



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secrets, Spoilers: 1x03, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 1x03: "Commodities".<br/>(Written for the self-indulgent fic meme: <a href="http://dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com/249274.html">on LJ</a> or <a href="http://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/84721.html">on DW</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killabeez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/gifts).



In the days following Emile Bonnaire's rocky sendoff, Athos knows well enough to expect questions from his friends. D'Artagnan will keep his word. He won't tell a soul of the fire, or the phantom of Athos's wife, not dead after all. But surely that won't stop him pressing for more. And Aramis, so circumspect in his own private affairs—he won't ask outright, but Athos knows him too well to hope the matter will drop untouched between them.

Porthos is the only one he thinks will let matters stand as they once were, easy and uncomplicated. 

Perhaps then it's only natural that Porthos is the one to knock on Athos's door, alone and with a surprisingly fine bottle of wine in hand. Athos doesn't send him away, as he would have Aramis or d'Artagnan tonight. Instead he stands aside to let Porthos cross the threshold, then leads the way to his rooms on the second floor.

They drink in silence, more cautious than companionable, seated side by side on Athos's unmade bed. The wine doesn't go to his head (or to Porthos's, he suspects), accustomed as they both are to drink. Athos is reluctant to speak first, because he honestly doesn't know what brought Porthos to his door tonight. It could be that questions have brought him, but it could as easily be the simple need for friendship. Athos will not make the mistake of jumping to selfish conclusions.

The bottle isn't quite empty when Porthos sets it aside and slumps back—slouching against Athos's shoulder in a way that feels more fatigued than deliberate. Athos lets his own head thump against the wall, his eyes falling closed, his whole body warm with wine and Porthos's proximity.

"You're not exactly who I thought you were," Porthos says, the quiet gravel of his voice warmly familiar. His tone isn't accusing exactly, but it's low and serious. "Strange, to think you know a man so well, and learn he's something else entirely."

"Am I so different now that you know the truth?" Athos opens his eyes, turns only his head to the side. He finds Porthos watching him, so close by, something unreadable clouding his face in the candlelight. 

"Maybe not," Porthos murmurs without looking away. "Or maybe it changes everything. I never knew you for a liar." 

Porthos's tone is bland, but the words slide guilt like a knife's blade between Athos's ribs. Five years doubting his own integrity, and still Porthos's accusation guts him more sharply than his own guilt ever could. 

"I will not ask your forgiveness," Athos says. He's not hypocrite enough. "But I give you my word I will never lie to you again." When Porthos's expression softens, just barely, Athos continues, "The past is past, my friend. The Comte de la Fère is dead, and he will remain that way."

"Why would you give up so much to live a life like this?" Porthos asks. His gaze cuts aside to take in the cramped room with its thin walls, its poorly patched roof, its window letting in too much of the night's chill.

Athos can't find the words to answer. He can't bring himself to put the tangled instincts of his own penance into words. Eventually, in the face of reluctant silence, Porthos shrugs and reaches once more for the bottle of wine. 

"I hope you'll tell me someday," Porthos says, taking a slow swig and then handing the bottle to Athos. 

"Perhaps," Athos concedes, accepting the wine and taking a long drink.


End file.
